CHAPTER 12

Adrian left for his business meeting early the next morning.

He did not know that the moment his car left the gate, the house would change.

Victoria stood at the top of the stairs in a pale blue dress, watching the car disappear down the road. Then she clapped her hands once, softly, and the maids came running.

"Move Miss Bennett's things to the master bedroom," she said. "Be quick about it."

The youngest maid blinked. "Madam, the master bedroom?"

"Is there a problem?"

"No, Madam. It is only that Mrs. Blackwood's things are still there."

"Mrs. Blackwood is not here." Victoria waved her hand. "Put her clothes in a box. Put it in the storeroom. A guest should be comfortable."

Mrs. Carter had been polishing the banister at the bottom of the stairs. She put down her cloth and came up slowly, her face pale.

"Madam Victoria, with respect, Mr. Adrian has not agreed to this."

"Mrs. Carter." Victoria turned and looked down at her. "You have worked in this house for many years. You know how far a servant's voice should reach."

Mrs. Carter did not move.

"I am only asking that we wait until he returns."

"And I am only asking that you mind your place."

The old woman's lips shook. She looked at Sophia, who stood nearby in a soft cream robe, one hand pressed to her chest like a shy bird.

"Aunt Victoria, please," Sophia said. "I do not want to cause trouble. I can stay in the guest room."

"Nonsense. You are family."

Mrs. Carter said nothing more. She turned and walked down the stairs, and nobody saw her wipe her eyes.

By ten o'clock, Elena's dresses were folded into a cardboard box. Her little lamp was gone from the window. Her hairbrush, her pins, and the book with the bookmark halfway through were swept into a bag and carried away like rubbish.

By eleven, the room was bright with fresh flowers and new curtains. Sophia's perfume filled the air.

Then Victoria went to the tall cabinet in the corner of the room and opened the glass doors.

Inside lay rows of velvet boxes. Elena's wedding gifts, kept safe for five years, and never worn because she had never been taken anywhere to wear them.

Victoria lifted out a long white box and opened it.

A string of pearls lay inside, soft and glowing.

Audrey gasped. "Mother, that is Grandmother's set."

"Yes. The one she left for Adrian's wife."

"But that is Elena's," Isabelle said, smiling a little. "Is it not?"

"Elena is not here." Victoria turned to Sophia. "Come, my dear."

Sophia put a hand to her mouth. "Oh no. I could never. It belongs to Adrian's wife. It would not be right."

"Do not be silly. Try it."

"Aunt Victoria..."

"Just try it."

Sophia hesitated for a moment, then lowered her eyes. She let Victoria fasten the pearls around her neck. When she looked up at the mirror, her face was pink, and her eyes were shining.

"They are so beautiful," she whispered. "I feel like I am dreaming."

Audrey and Isabelle clapped. Victoria smiled like a woman admiring a painting she had made herself.

None of them heard the front door open downstairs.

Adrian had left the meeting early. His head was aching. He had not slept well in days, and the voices in the boardroom had sounded like buzzing flies. He told his driver to take him home. He wanted only to sit in a quiet room and not think.

He walked through the hall and saw Mrs. Carter standing near the stairs with a tray in her hands. She looked at him and her mouth opened, but no words came out.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

"Sir," she said in a small voice. "Perhaps you should go up."

He frowned. He climbed the stairs and heard laughter from the end of the corridor. He followed it to the door of his own bedroom. It was open.

He stopped.

The room was full of flowers. The curtains were new. The bed was made with unfamiliar sheets. And at the dresser, in front of the mirror that had once held Elena's reflection, sat Sophia.

Around her neck hung a string of pearls.

His grandmother's pearls.

Everyone turned. The laughter died.

"Adrian," Victoria said brightly. "You are home early."

He did not answer. He only looked at the pearls, and then at the empty place on the dresser where Elena's hairbrush had been.

"What is this?"

"Oh, my dear, it is nothing. Sophia was so uncomfortable in the guest room, so I thought..."

"Whose room is this?"

His voice was very quiet. It was the quietest Victoria had ever heard it, and she took a small step back.

"It is your room, Adrian. Yours and..."

"And whose?"

"Well, hers. But she is gone."

"She is my wife." He stepped inside. "She is gone for her health. That is what I told the world. Is that not what you told your friends?"

"Adrian..."

"Take them off."

Sophia lifted a trembling hand to the clasp. "Adrian, I am so sorry. I told Aunt Victoria I should not."

"Take them off. Now."

She unclasped the pearls. Her fingers shook, and a tear slid down her cheek. She laid the necklace on the dresser as though it were made of glass.

"Where is the rest?" Adrian said. "Her clothes. Her books. Her lamp."

Isabelle spoke up quickly. "Mother had them put in the storeroom."

"Then bring them back. All of it. Every single thing. Miss Bennett returns to the guest room." He turned and looked at his mother. "Today."

"You cannot speak to me like this in front of the servants."

"I can. And I will."

Victoria's face went white, then red. "I am your mother."

"Yes. And this is my house. And she is my wife." His voice rose for the first time. "Until I sign a piece of paper, she is still Mrs. Blackwood, and no one in this house will touch what belongs to her. Not you. Not Audrey. Not anyone."

The room was silent.

In the doorway, Mrs. Carter had put her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wet. Behind her, the youngest maid stood perfectly still, as if she were afraid to breathe.

Adrian looked at the room. Then he picked up the pearls from the dresser and put them back in their box, with great care, like a man putting away something sacred.

He did not understand why his hands were shaking.

It was pride, he told himself. It was his name. His house. His rules. It had nothing to do with the quiet girl who used to sit at that dresser and brush her hair in the evenings, thinking no one was watching.

He walked out of the room without another word.

He had barely reached the end of the hallway when he heard soft footsteps behind him. A hand touched his sleeve.

"Adrian."

Sophia stood there with red eyes and a trembling mouth. But as he looked at her, something strange happened. The softness drained out of her face. It was as if a mask had slipped, only for a moment, and what lay beneath was calm and cold and sure.

"You are making a mistake," she said quietly.

"Not now, Sophia."

"She was never your real wife, Adrian."

He turned.

"You know it, and I know it," she went on, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. "You can shout at your mother all you like. It does not change the truth."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you want me to show you why?"

She opened her handbag and slowly drew out a sealed cream envelope. On the front, in black ink, was a single name.

Elena.